ON THE 
ROMANY ROAD 



RCNA GARY SHEmELD 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



ON THE ROMANY ROAD 

By 
RENA CART SHEFFIELD 



Copyright 1915 
by 
Rena Gary bheffleld 



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To 

Friends WKo Endure 
Through Verses and Reverses 



My idle dreams the shadow-lace 
Upon the looms of day, 

That fairies du5t with datfodils 
While shuftles play. 



STACCATO 



n 



The Romany Road 

Ho ! for tfie road — the Romany road ; 
Tne road that lures away 

From heart o* town 

To copse of brown 
Atoss with laurel spray. 
Bleak Winter wooes the Springtime ; 
December weds with May, 
When appleblossom drifts lie white 
Upon a gold-spun day. 

Will o* the wisp the Romany road 
That bids my footsteps stray 

From heart o* town 

Up hill and down 
Three thousand miles away 
Where poppy fields are flaming 
As April melts to May, 
And Giant redwoods guard the road 
That leads to Frisco Bay ! 



12 
In Nicotina 

Oh ! she was a gay little cigarette. 

And be was a fat cigar, 
And side by side on a tabouret, 

Tbey £tood in a ginger jar. 

Tbo' nary a word could I understand, 
( For tbey cba'fted in A^obac, ) 

Yet wonderful tbings I am sure tbey planned; 
Like loyers all do alack ! 

To-day sbe 's a sad litile cigare'de. 
For gone is ber braye cigar. 

And all alone on tbe tabouret 
Sbe ^ands in tbe ginger jar. 

* :t: 4= * * 

Now love is a marvelous tbing, 'tis true, 
And many a fault 'twill cloak 

But often it ends, as tbe dream of tbese two. 
In notbing at all but smoke. 



My Truant Heart And I 

My truant beart and I went out 

Upon a bigbroad fair. 
Tbe a,$ters curtsied as we passed, 

Tbe We5t wind tossed my bair. 
Tbe world looked sweet and bouri-eyed, 

Wbicbever way I trod. 
And every beggar seemed a prince 

And every knave a god. 

My truant beart and I went borne 

Along tbe bigbway tbere. 
Tbe asters curtsied as we passed, 

Tbe West wind tossed my bair. 
But life tbat looked so bouri-eyed 

Had proved beyond an odd 
Tbat beggars were not princes— no ! 

Nor every knave a— god ! 



13 

A Miniature 

A bit of old iyory— a frame of dall gold» 

And Dolly most faintly arrayed. 

Her hair all apoudre, becomingly rolled, 

A govrn of soft lilac brocade. 

There are pearls at her throat 

And a rose at her brea.st, 

And the shimmer of 5tars in her eyes, 

Yet I see her again in an old Army coat 

On the trail where The Lonesome Road lies. 

Where The Lonesome Road lies, 
Back of Might-Have-Been Town, 
Where one's memory flies 
As the daylight dips down. 
And it *s odd how my heart 
Quickens now when I hold 
This frail bit of ivory 

Encircled in gold. 



The Rain Pool 

Once a little, doubting duckling 
Stood beside a puddle-pond ; 
Dipped one webbed foot in the water. 
Cocked an eye and looked beyond. 

Said I to him as he stood there 
Half afraid to venture in. 
While his wee pin-feathers trembled 
All along his prickly skin. 

"Prith thee art thou a Balboa 
And thy pond a mighty ocean ? 
Or a little flutfy Psyche 
With thy downy wings in motion? 

Paddle in thon Ducky Daddies, 
Far be it from me to say 
Whether Love 's a great adventure. 
Or a rain-pool by the way." 



14 

Peggy 

Ny heart goes dreaming back again 

To other days I knew. 
To the only girl I can't forget 

With eyes of haunting blue. 
Again I see the dim old charch, 

Again the high-backed pew. 
And Peggy si'6:ing sweet and prim 

The way she used to do. 

Oh ! Peggy wore a bonnet. 

With nodding plumes upon it, 
And a ribbon bow tied underneath her chin, 

And a silver chain and locket, 

And a little brocade pocket 
That she kept her Sunday kerchief tucked within. 

I see the high-backed pew again, 

The choir a singisig there. 
And a lingering scent of lilacs 

Comes stealing thro' the air. 
Again her li^le hand seeks mine 

The way it used to dare. 
And Peggy's ?oice is whispering low. 

An old remembered prayer. 

Oh ! Peggy wears a bonnet 

With nodding plumes upon it. 
Oar Peggy with her eyes of tender blue. 

And a silver chain and locket. 

And a jtri^ly tailored pocket 
Ob a 5tri^ly tailored gown of modern hue ! 



J5 
Kyanomi 

I can see the cherry blossoms 
As they bloom in old Japan, 
Falling pink and white aboat her, 
Li'ftle maid of Yokosan. 
I can see the gold of sunrise, 
And the silver of the moon. 
Hanging like an arch of Eros 

'er the dask of the lagoon. 

1 can feel the warmth of summer. 
And the drowsy ^ir of air ; 

And the slender li^le fingers 
Strumming softly to me there. 
And the world's a flood of sweetness. 
When you play your samisen. 

Kyanomi — Kyanomi 

I dream of you again. 

I can see you as I used to, 
With the lotus in your hair 
Piled up smooth and dark and shining 
And the robes you used to wear. 
Gay like wings of birds and beetles. 
Sweet perfumed ard flowing free. 
And the long, light sliding windows 
Where we leaned and watched the sea. 
I can feel your soft caresses. 
Blossoms of the Ea^ they seemed, 
Flu'ft'ring down so warm and gentle 
Like dream kisses I have dreamed. 
And the world's a flood of sweetnest 
When you play your samisen. 

Kyanomi — Kyanomi 

I think of you again. 



16 



Sannder's Gel 

Oh the moon is risin' yeller 

Like it always ased to do. 
An' the corn is throajjh the huskin' 

An' the Pippins barreled too. 
I kin recoiled them other days ; 

Kin recoiled 'em well. 
When the threshin' was ior^often 

While I courted Saander's gel. 

O her eyes were like the troat stream 

An' her hair like ripenin' grain; 
An' her smile was always flash n' 

Like the sanshine after rain; 
An' her teeth was white as fro^in' 

Or the milk within the corn. 
An' her little hands was helpin' 

From the day that she was born. 

the kettle's song's a singin' 

In the old farm house to-night; 
Come the haryesters a swingin' 

Down the road to get a bite. 
An' the corn-itacks lay a gleamin' 

Where the mowin' sickles fell 
An' I lo^ my heart an' found it 

When I courted Saunder's gel. 



17 



The Other Won't Be TKere 

Old chap, we'll call this UrSt good-night, 

Scotch high balls seem yonr fad. 
Go home and bromoselzerize— 

I tnow your head feels bad. 
If motor lights razdazzle yoa 

With microscopic glare, 
Ayoid the one that's neare.$t, for 

The other won't be there ! 

If when before the house you stop, 

Two doors rise up,— beware ! 
Unlock the fir^st one silently — 

The other won't be there. 
And should two ma-in-laws appear 

Upon the topmo^ stair. 
Speak to the cross one kindly, for 

The other won't be there ! 

She'll hold a candle that will seem 
Like X-rays on full tilt. 

Sardonically you'll smile and think 
She's sizing up your guilt— 

Tou'U feel a dunce, my boy, for once- 
Enraged you'll tear your hair! 

When two jaws wag and neyer flag. 
The other won't be there ! 



18 
An Easter Offering 

Miss Nancy MacFancy 

She always felt dancy. 

But sometimes she 

Sobered down too. 

She was tired of cotillions. 

Pink teas and Brazilians, 

And frivolous things 

That she knew. 

She had read at her ease 

Of the poor Refugees, 

And decided that something 

She'd do : 
oo she got out a bandhox 
Of pale Alice blue 
And pasted it o?er 
And all the way through 
With daffydowndillies 
And lilies and glue. 

A gold spangle dollar, 
A Brussels Net collar. 
She threw in the box 
When 'twas done ; 
Silk stockings of grey 
And a gay negligee''; 
A bodkin with ribbons to 

run. 
Gowns of satin and lace. 
Of rare texture and grace. 
She gave with abandon 

Each one. 
She gathered up armfuls 
And happily threw 
In foible-sweet things 
Such as sachets and rings 
And a powder pu£ 
Downy — and new. 



19 

Miss Nancy Mac Fancy 

She always was prancy. 

But now grayer thoughts 

Filled her mind. 

In went Barnaby Rudge 

With the bonbons and fudge 

And all the cute things 

She could find. 

Then a label she made 

FOR THE BELGIAN AID, 
On a card of pale 

Alice blue ; 

Tucked it in with the lilies \ 

And daffydowndillies \ 

And ribbons and wrappings 

And glue. ; 



The Burning Of Valhalla 

When the brown and gold of Autumn 
Hang aloft their ruddy signs. 
And the scarlet of the sumac comes again. 
When the grapes in purple clusters 
Heary droop on arbor vines. 
Take ye measure by the gods 
That triumph then. 

Oh ! the gold flare of O^ober 
And the heaven's hazy blue 
Like the smoke of distant fires a 

smouldering yet, 
Pay mute tribute in the blazing 
Of their ever changing hue. 
To Valhalla — lest the gods 

Should dare forget ! 



20 
A Husking Song 

TKe barn is arevel — 
The flicker of moonlight 

Steals up to the wide open door, 
Oatriyaled by mocking 
Of weird Jack o* Lanterns, 

The yellowing corn on the floor ! 
A snap for the cold 
And the frost of O^ober ! 

And warmth of good cheer is within. 
And the haskers are camping 
Aroand in a circle ; 

The music's about to begin. 

Gome dance down the middle 
In time to the fiddle, 

A spinning a reel as you go. 
The buskers are singing; 
Their Toices are ringing ; 

The lanterns swing high in a row. 
The crowd 'round the cider 
Grows joyously wider. 

And firkins of pumpkin and mince 
Inyite your inspe^ion. 
Bid timely election 

Against apple bu'fter and quince. 

So here is to feasting! 
And here is to plenty ! 

And here is a toa^ to good cheer ! 
And here is to three score ! 
And here is to twenty ! 

And garnering is for the year. 
Then dance down the middle 
In time to the fiddle, 

And twang of the duity banjo — 
The buskers are singing, 
Their yoices are ringing. 

While lanterns swing high in a row ! 



21 



Girl In Green 

Girl In Green, — as fair as DapKne, 
Like a handmaid of the dawn. 

With your yellow carls caaf^ht lij^htly 
Where a rose is fastened on. 

Low-cat is yoar silken hodice. 

And yoar breast of ivory white 

Holds a hint of sammer sanrise 

Where 'tis closest to the li^^ht. 

And your face, — the face of Daphne, 
Has the haatear of a ^een. 

Who — I ask myself — who are yoa, 

Girl In Green — yoa Girl In Green t 

Bat a model thas imprisoned 

In a gilded picture frame ? 
Bat a memory forj^otten 

Now to ateliers and fame ? 

By the gods no ! yoa have triumphed ; 

Laurel crowned — whate'er your fate. 
For by stepping in that picture 

¥ou haye made a canvass great ! 



22 
By VoIIon 
A bit of still-life there by ToUon, 
A table, spread after the feast. 
The candles are spaftering tapers. 
The soand of the mnsic has ceased. 
The roses are sere at the edges, — 
The glasses are drained to the lees — 
The feast of the night is forgotton 
For else that hath charms beside these. 

And what of my lady in chiton 

With the roses crushed close to her breast. 

Is she too forgoti:en I wonder — 

Forgo'ften and left like the rest ? 

Feast ye, while of feasting there's plenty. 

Nor come back when once it is o'er 

To pat out the spu^ering candles 

That mock at the banquet no more. 



Arabella Jones 

Twenty thousand for a canvas ! 

Arabella Jones, aged three, 
Si'fting by a study table. 

Looking faintly out at me. 
Just a child of just somebody. 

Hair coal-black and straight of line,. 
Tender, curving mouth — the sweetness 

Something you cannot define. 
Is it then the master's brush work. 

Big with genius, makes us care ? 
Or the winsome Arabella 

Sitting in the half-light there ? 
Just the charm ; the wonder of it — 

Of the pliant color tones. 
Twenty thousand ! Well you're worth It^ 

Little Arabella Jones ! 



23 



The New Hired Girl 

ISaid the new Hired girl 

To the young housewife, 
" Sure Fm not going to stay ; 

Vm used to getting up at ten 
And haying squab each day. 

I'm used to haying the wash done out 
And the dishes rinsed and dried, 

And being helped in a general way 

To keep me satisfied/' 

Said the young housewife 

To the new hired girl, 
**If you won't go away, 

I'll let you use my motor car. 
My pianola play. 

I'll let you haye my French masseuse ; 
I'll double up your pay 

And giye you eyery eyening oat 

And eyery other day." 

Said the new hired girl 
To the young housewife 
"And thank ye mum, I'll 
stay ! " 



24 



The City of Yet To Be 

Did yon ever go to tfie city — 

THe City of Yet To Be ? 
Where opera seats are thirty cents 

And taxi-cabs are free. 
Where bills are paid upon the first 

And rents before they're due ; 
Where papers score somebody else 

Sometimes instead of yon. 

There money grows on family trees ; 

And juleps made of mint 
Remake themselves when once they're gone 

And hearts are never flint. 
There books are always clever ; 

And meals are always hot 
And diamonds grow along the edge 

Of every vacant lot. 

There office seekers are just right. 

And the lid is always on ; 
And the ticker ticks the day before 

The Stock has caved and gone ; 
There everybody's happy ; 

It's catch as catch best can. 
And politicians buy up votes 

To help the Other Man ! 



25 



The River 

Tfie sdips that lie at anchor 

Are my comrades bold. Yeo Ho ! 

The cities skirted all along my way ; 

The rugged mountains towering 

Where my restless waters flow. 

The cornfields of a fleeting summer's day. 

My Breast's a magic mirror, 

I reflect the world. Yeo Ho ! 

The color and the glory of the skies. 

The tawny harks a-quiver 

In the sundown's vagrant glow 

That heralds night, — when all my magic flies. 

There's magic still, ye river. 
When the moon comes up, Yeo Ho ! 
And the firefly lanterns flash a signal light ; 
When the shadows of the shore-line 
Ever deeper, deeper grow. 
And the banjo's strings twang faintly 
thro' the night. 



26 



Wirel 



ess 



No ! don't answer— ni forgi?e it. 

Just because you are a man. 
And a man hates writing} le'fters ; 

I suppose Because he can ! 
Let me be a signal station 

Where the mem'ry of an hoar 
May fly outward unimpeded 

Sure of a receiving tower. 
To a man just writing letters, 

As most any woman knows. 
Is the pricking of the fingers 

In the plucking of a rose. 



Keep Along A Hopin' Honey 

Keep along a hopin', honey. 
Don't you fret or care ; 

Life's a bit of Chopin, honey. 

When you've learned the air. 

Keep along a smilin', honey, 

If things aren't just right ; 

Life is like a Rembrant, honey. 
Shadow 'gainst the light. 

Keep along a dreamin,' honey. 
While you work away ; 

Statues wrought in marble, honey. 
First were cast in clay ! 



27 



Where The PatK Turns In 

Oh ! the night was dusky, the night was 5till, 

And the scent of the flowers I knew 
Cilung close, while the note of a whlppoorwill 

Arose as I nearer drew — 
I lingered anon ere I hurried on, 

A quiyer that life could be 
Vibrant and sweet as the pulsing dark 

Enshrouding the world and me. 

Oh ! the night was misty, the moon was hid. 

And I paused for a bit to wait. 
While my heart ran on to the silhouede 

Where the bars let down at the gate. 
And beyond, the white of the orchard's bloom. 

And the hill by the cedars topped. 
While a field of rye lay silent by 

Where the phantom roadway .stopped. 

Oh ! to be again on the roadway when 

The dusk of the night crowds 'round. 
The tread of our feet, and our heart's quick beat. 

With neyer another sound. 
Where the path turns in by the old stone wall 

The wait-a-bit briar climbs. 
And Lo?e in willful errancy 

Keeps try^ o' summer times ! 



28 



The Mill Stream 

OH ! tKe mill .stream 

And the hill stream 

And the stream that wir.ds away 
Among the reeds and rushes 

Where the silver mianows stray. 
How gaily with my rod and reel 

I tramped there day by day 
While the old wheel paddled 

Tarn on turn 

Its spinning roundelay. 

Oh ! the mill stream 

Never-still stream, 

And the stream where sunlight played 
Where eddies whirled and ripples swirled 

Beneath the willow's shade. 
There often as a boy Vd go 

A swimmirsg day by day 
While the old wheel paddled 

Turn on turn 

Its splashing roundelay. 



Blind Man's Bud 

Blind Man's BufF ! 

Now You're it, Sallie, 
There ! look out for that chair ! 

Dodging and darting and romping, 
Sallie, 
Ne?er a care— a care. 

Blind Man's Bud ! 

Ah ! Life's it, Sallie, 
Always beware !— beware ! 

So many things to look out for, 
Sallie, 
More than a chair— a chair ! 



29 



Lucy Ann Melinda 

Wfcen tfie starlings southward fly 

And the summer days are yone. 
Like a cloud they blot the sky. 

Speeding swiftly on and on ; 
Skimmir.y now above the river 
Where they pause, and dip, and ^iyer» 

Drifting by; 
Flying ever to the southward, 

Where the old plantations lie. 

They are flying back to Dixie, 

Where the cotton is a-growing ; 
They are going where 

The pickaninines play ; 
Where my mammy's old log cabin 

Feels the Southern winds a-blowing. 
As the kitchen door swings open 

At the parting of the day. 

And I hear her voice a-calling 

As the twilight keeps a-falling. 
To Lucy Ann Melinda, 
In the same old crooning way ; 

It echoes back to me. 
A cadent melody, 

"Lucy Ann Melinda, 

The daylight is a-flyin*; 
Lucy Ann Melinda, 

Come set de bacon fryin'. 
De corn-pone's in de oben, 

An* yo* pickaninny's cryin' 
Lucy Ann Melinda, 

Put de kettle on fo* tea ! " 



30 



The Hunt 

The hunt is on, the hounds at dawn 

Spring hot upon the trail— 
And ju^ beyond the bullfrog pond 

A fox afrights a quail— 
At break of morn the huntsman's horn 

Resounds to itir your blood— 
And the joy of life is riot rife. 

And madness at its flood. 

Away, away o'er fields that lay 

Athwart the country side 
A fence looms near, you take it clear, 

And faster— faster ride. 
The redcoats catch their scarlet patch 

From flaming of the sun. 
And a flash of bui^ is blutf enough 

Until the chase is done- 
Hold high the brush, the hounds onrush. 

Crowd in and yelp and goad. 
The redcoats flare, now here now there, 

Ahalting down the road. 
The goldenrod and ragweed nod 

As foam flecked hunters pass. 
And a third's a thirst — the last or first. 

So fill the julep glass ! 



31 



My Honeysuckle Girl 

Sue, Sue, Fin tdinkin' o* you 
Down in ma Georgia dome. 
I can see two eyes a gleamin' 
Wfiere tfie honeysuckle grew 
Down in ma Georgia dome. 
It grips around tfie railin' 
Or tne ole pine fence 
Wfiere tfie swamp flag's growin' 
An* tfie wood is dense 
Down in my Georgia fiome. 
I can hear the crickets cfiirpin' 
An* the Brook a Babhiin* low ; 
An* ma yaller girl was waitin* 
Where the honeysuckles grow. 
Sue, Sue, I*m thinkin* o* you 
Down in ma Georgia home. 

Beamin* moon— dreamin* moon. 

Hush a bye low. 
Don't yo wake befo yo take me 

To the long ago. 
Beamin* moon— dreamin* moon, 

I wonder do yo know 
Is ma yaller girl still waitin* 
Where the honeysuckles grow? 



32 

Marjory's Ju5t Eighteen 

With her g^aint, fetching togs 
And a maid— and mamjioa, 

And a chaperon always on hand. 
She enters society ; greets with propriety 

MaideKs and men of the land. 

She's bewitchiRg : her glance 

Is enoagh to entrance 
And keep you in maddening doubt. 

Oh, her heart is her own, 

We must leave it alor.e. 
For Marjory's just come out. 

Dainty, winning, she's a li^le g(ueen 
Who treads on the hearts of her subje^s. 

Oh, Marjory's ju5t eighteen! 
And I wonder, when years have passed over 

And she is mo5t fifty and stout. 

If our love we'll confess 

And still plead for her yes. 
As when Marjory first came out. 

With adorers on hand 
To control and command. 

She dances through life like an elf. 
Her laugh is so ringing it cannot help bringing 

Our hesrts to her dear liftle self. 

She enchants us and Beams 

On Gs all till it seems 
Delightful to have her about. 

Life's Eo longer the same. 

And Dars Cupid's to blame, 
For Marjory's just come out. 

When the season is o'er 
And her triumph's assured 

She will hold out her hand with a smile 
To some one or other, approved by her mother. 

With fame and a fortune worth while. 

She's a debutante now. 

And enslaves us somehow. 
Co<g@etiing with smile or pout. 

Till the club we'd desert 

For the sad li^le flirt. 
Though Marjory's just come out. 



33 



Cupid an Itinerant 

Oil ! Vm a bold itinerant 

I roam tlie world right tl. rough, 
I'm a tinker, a tailor, a judge and a jailer, 
A lot more too ! 

I mend my hearts lite a broken plate ; 
I fix them crooked— I fix them straight. 
And everybody comes to me soon or late. 
Heigh 0! 

Yes, I'm a gay itinerant, 
A clever advocate. 
Deciding love cases in thousands of places ; 
A judge of state ! 
It's versus that, and versus this, 
I always make the fine a kiss ; 
And never a case like that I miss— 
Heigh ! 

For I'm a bold iterant. 

Detective work's my forte. 
I can break any latch with a very strong catch 
And think it's sport. 
And any heart that's asleep I wake ; 
And any heart that I want I take. 
To hold as prisoner for someone's sake, 
Heigh ! 

So I'm a gay itinerant, 

I roam o'er land and sea ; 
I m a bother, a joy, and a love of a boy— 
You can't beat me ! 

I mend my hearts like a broken plate ; 
I fix them crooked— I fix them straight. 
And everybody comes to me soon or late. 
Heigh ! 



34 



The Old Wfiat-Not 



It stood in the corner of the big, best room 
Tbat was dark and chilly and filled with gloom. 

And belonged to Eliza Ann. 
There were f i?e black shelves with a high caryed top 
From Singapore in a teakwood shop. 

Bought by a sailor man. 
On the gay flowered carpet it shone with wealth 
Thought the Porcelain Cat on the mantle shelf; 
At the ?ery tip top was a small Chinee, 
And he was as pale as pale could be, — 

Of a sort of ivory tan. 
And his teeth he ground in a doleful sound 
As he rolled his eyes and looked around 

The room of Eliza Ann. 



"Me no likee— velly ^gieer ; ! 

Lights in the Bund now winkie, blinkie. i 

Me no likee here— no can! " ! 

Said the little Chinee of ivory ^ 

From a dusty spot 

On the old what-not 

That belonged to 

Eliza Ann. 



The clock struck eleven in the parlor when 
All the things came sudden to life again 

In the room of Eliza Ann. 
The Porcelain Cat and a stn£ed Blue Jay ; 
A red wax rose and an album gay 

All started a great can-can. 
But the grave Chinee on the tip top shelf 
Drew further and further within himself 

In back of a peacock fan. 
Where he laughed and laughed till his sides grew fat 
At the antimacassars hanging flat 

In the room of Eliza Ann. 



35 



"Me keep tKinkee heap Hong KoniJ. 
Lights in the Bund now winkie, blinkie. 

Me no likee Mellican Man !" 
Said the litile Chinee of iyory 
From his du^y spot 
On the old what-not 
That belonged to 
Eliza Ann. 



Little Old New York ] 

3 

Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel ] 

As the buildings rise. \ 

Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel, ; 

Till they pierce the skies. 

And you can see far, far below, I 

The boats go shuttling to and fro ; \ 

The life that teems away ! i 
While the German band booms out the^tune 

The hurdy gurdys play. 1 

Strike ! strike ! steel upon steel 

As the buildings rise* 
Grind ! grind ! wheel upon wheel 

Till the daylight dies. 
And necklace bridges twinkle high. 
Like jeweled strands against the sky ; 

While work is held at bay. ^ 

And the town's alight to hail the night ] 

That blazons up Broadway ! ! 



36 



The Quarrel 

Her canoe's like gray silver 

Agleam in the night ; 
As it rides on tKe river 

And catches the light ; 
And Polly is paddling ; 

I watch from afar 
As she drifts to the North 

Where the harbor lights are. 

Like a phantom canoe 

It dips gaily to sea 
With the girl that I love 

And the wind blowing free ; 
And Cupid's the bo'sn, 

A reckless one he ! 
For I'm not with Polly 

And she's not with me. 

Polly, madcap Polly 

As you're floating out to sea'; 
Don't you think it's folly ? 

Won't you think of me? 
Quarreling time is over ; 

Kissing time is when 
You forgive and I forgive and 

We mflte up again! 



37 



A Valentine 

I'm dancing tonight at the Bal Pes Heares, 
Where life is a masked parade ; 
And my vis-a-vis is a Spanish monk. 
While I am in old brocade, 
With a skirt as full as a petaled rose, 
And a bodice low-cut, with pearls. 
My hair done high, as in days gone by. 
All powder and putfs and curls. 

I'm dancing, Mon Cher, at the Ba[ Des Heures, 
But my thoughts are with you, with you. 
And I see tonight, tho' the lights flare bright, 
A church and a high-backed pew. 
And the stained glass saints in a row above 
Look down from tneir windows high. 
Outlined by radiant gleams thereof 
As the sun drifts westward by. 

I'm dancing tonight at the Bal Pes Heures, 

But my fancy is far away. 

And the band is playing a gay chaBSOK 

With reveling illt and sway. 

Tho' I smile the while, truant thoughts beguile 

My heart to soaie cloistered place. 

So I'm sending a kiss, Mon Cher , with this. 

In ribbons and rose-point lace. 



38 
Batiiery Park 

The flagstones lie warm 

Where the son shimmers thro' 
A throb's in the air 

And a sky glimmers blae. 
There Vagabond princes 

Are loitering— hark ! 
For April is singing 

In Bakery Park. 

The foam of the blackberry 

Brambles' white spray 
Breaks in on my thoughts 

With the froth of the bay. 
Pan's piping is merry, 

As flate-throated lark, 
When April goes singing 

Thro' Battery Park. 

A spell of enchantment 

The Pagan god throws ; 
There's star-duft and hope 

In the wind where it blows 
The air of a min^rel 

From sunrise till dark. 
When April is straying 

Thro' Battery Park. 



Court Jester 

For simple things are sweetest. 
And life that knows not care. 
And riches make us beggars 
For ig^ietude— or prayer. 

I'd rather be Court Jester, 
At the footstool of a king. 
Than pontiff or archdeacon 
With bonds such honors bring. 



39 



Brown oi Nevada 

From the Portrait 

Aeons may come, and aeons jjo— 
And tidal waves rtill ebb and flow. 
Bat one staancb heart the West will know-- 
Brown of Nevada. 

Brown as the desert sands that be ; 
Brown as an eagle soaring free ; 
Into a sun-swept world stept he ! 
Brown of Nevada. 

Born of a race with sinews strong ; 
Sprang from a love that bideth long ; 
Man among men who spare no wrong- 
Brown of Nevada. 

Westward the ?^iet valleys lie 
Where rampart mountains guard the sky. 
Westward the world goes surging by 
Brown of Nevada. 

And at the last cross-desert ride. 
When empires cease and moon and tide. 
Charging ! — he'll take the Great Divide, 
Brown of Nevada. 



40 



La Cfiambre In The Air 

Fve but to close my eyes to see 
La chambre in tbe air, 
And Bobbet sitting close to me 
Within a deep arm chair. 
Her li^le hand, you understand, 
Held fast in mine the while. 
And flashir^g logs light up anon 
The sweetness of her smile. 

I've but to close my eyes to see 
La chambre in the air ; 

The big old room that knows no gloom 

Whenever she is there. 

No roses climb to peep within 

The window-casemeiits,---true ! 

For this is up, up higher far 

Than ever roses grew. 

I see the dovetailed boards that lie 
So brown along the floor ; 
The chimney corner that we love. 
The handle of the door. 
Tve often watched it turning 
When I fcnew whom I should see— 
My Bobbet standing in the door 
And smiling there at me. 

Fve but to close my eyes to see 
La chambre in the air. 
The big four-po.$ter bed that stands 
Between the wis«Gows there. 
And valences of blue and white 
Run all around about ; 
And form a canopy above. 
And where we clamber out. 

I see the pillows fresh and white 
Like heaps of drifted snow. 
I see a pu£ of blue delight. 
And slippers in a row. 



A soft peignoir of lace ard frills 
Upon a neav-hy cFiair ; 
And somehow tliere's a fiauntiKg liint 
Of roses in tfce air. 

It's juiSt a .star at evening, 

Or a murmer of tfie sea 

That brings it rusftiKg to my heart 

How sweet such things can be. 

Our dest,— the book-case swinging there. 

The stories we both know. 

A basket with her Keedlework, 

The lamplight's even glow. 

Fve but to close my eyes to see 

The bureau g(uaiKt arc! high ; 

The dainty, dear, bewildering things. 

And Bobbet 5tandir.g by. 

Her powder-puff, the chiton rutf ; 

The circlet for her hair. 

A thousand other foolish things 

That I might thii:k her fair. 

She wears silk socks with drawn-work clocks 

Roseti;es and ribbojis too. 

Wee satin slippers oa her toes 

With saucy bows of blue. 

She smiles at me across her tea. 

Or flaunts a big lace fan. 

She is a moonbeam strayed, maybe. 

From far away Japan. 

And there's a cupboard that I know ; 

It has a bent-up key. 

And old blue china in a row. 

That she gets dov^n for me. 

There is a silver chafing-dish 

Stirred by a silver spoon. 

And Bobbet ! serving cakes and tea 

A winter's afternoon ! 



42 

The Stoker 

Do you Fiear tfcat sound— Ofi ! my Comrade, 

The snarling and snapping by night ? 

'Tis a pack of wolves on the dark wood's edge 

Crying aloud in fright. 

Their fangs are wet with the fleck of blood ; 

And sayage their howls ring wide. 

They're the wolves of my soul, my Comrade, 

That are starved and unsatisfied. 

Stoke ! .stoke ! 'mid the grime and smoke, 

As the ship goes plunging on. 

Stoke ! 5toke ! while the hot flames choke 

My soul from dusk to dawn. 

Oh ! God for the breath of the clean fresh day ! 

Oh ! God for the chill of the cold, salt-spray ! 

Stoke ! 5toke ! till my spirit's broke 

For, Comrade— I've lost my way ! 

Do you hear that sound— Oh ! my Comrade, 

The sobs of the childer that pray ? 

Creak a the stair, and my woman's there 

Toiling and toiling away. 

It's grind and strife for the curse of life. 

What makers it all— you say— 

If the souls of them— and the soul of me 

Rise free at the Judgment Day ! 

Stoke ! stoke ! 'mid the grime and smoke. 

As the ship goes plunging on. 

Stoke ! stoke ! while the hot flames choke 

My soul from dusk to dawn. 

Oh ! God for the breath of the clean, fresh day ! 

Oh ! God for the chill of the cold, salt spray ! 

Stoke ! stoke ! till my spirit's broke. 

But, Comrade— I've found my way ! 



43 
I Am A Dreamer In The Hills 

I am a sKepherd of the hills ; 
The fleece-white clouds my flock. 
A willow wand the crook I wave 
Above the high spire clock. 
Blow, blow ye winds, Heigh 
Catch my magic if you can ! 
A plaintive lay, the tune I play 
Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 

I am a warrior of the hills; 
No anvil welds my sword 
Of Yolsung ^eel— no magic cap 
Have I, nor golden horde. 
Blow, blow ye winds, Heigh 
Waft my music if you can ! 
A reveille the tune I play 
Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 

I am a godchild of the hills: 

Song bubbles do I blow. 

They float down on a world that lies 

Unheeding far below. 

Go, go ye winds. Heigh 

Break my bubbles if you can ! 

The while I'll play a chanson gai 

Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 

I am a spinner in the hills ; 
My distal is the day ; 
My flax the sun whose sheen I've span- 
Glint of the woof its ray. 
Blow, blow ye winds. Heigh 
Guard my cloud sheep if you can! 
A shepherd's lay, the tune I play 
Upon the reedy pipes of Pan. 



LIFE AND I 



49 



In Persian lore, Jan Ibn Jan was the Genie King who built the pyramidr 
before the time of Adam. 



Jan Ibn Jan 

Gome back and build my pyramids ! 

Jan Ibn Jan. 
Hear tbou my call ! —the sundown call 

Of mortal man. 
A Muezzin at dusk of day 
I cry my need aloud— I pray 
Lay tbou for me tbe corner-stone 
If build I mu<$t ; -—and build alone ! 
Bend from tKy Turret of the Dead 
Where thou canst see for leagues ahead 
The monuments we each mu5t raise 
For mocfcery or sneer or praise. 
I am of puny strength ; my hands are weak ; 
I cannot 5tir the stones— so great they seem. 
I can but raise them dream on dream. 
Come back and build my pyramids^for me, 

Jan Ibn Jan. 
Ah ! build them as in ages gone. 
Of might and power ; —and yet more strong 

And high, 
Till Egypt's Nile itself's a thread of beads. 
And scorching sands blur up against the sky 
When nightfall flings its cowl of black 
Upon a century that bleeds 

And struggles by. 
The god lacchus calleth "Is thy task not done?" 
My torch flares out. I answer "Nay ! 

'Tis but begun ! " 
Hear thou my prayer ! —the duskdown prayer 

Of mortal man. 
Come back and build my pyramids ! 

Jan Ibn Jan. 



50 



Tde Things Tliat Be. 

I hear in my soal the ba^Ie's roll. 

And the sound of the mailed drums ; 

And my heart beats high, as they're drayring nigh 

For I know who it is that comes. 

There's the sound of the bugle calling ; 

! God of The Things That Be, 
It's all the dreams I used to dream 
A marching home to me. 

My answered prayer. In the great fanfare 
Of trumpets and tramping feet ; 

1 fling back the door of my soul tonight 
And gaze down the silent 5treet. 

Away in the distance I see them ; 
The ho.st of The Things That Be ; 
The hopes and fears of bygone years 
A marching on past me. 

Oh ! ye who are saints and sages, 
Shall I follow the batile's roll? 
Shall I ride down the tragic ages 
And trample the dreams in my soul ? 
No ! I'll wait for my own batialion, 
In the dawn of The Yet To Be, 
For the hopes and fears of future years 
Are marching on towards me ! 



n 



Litile Brown House 

Dear little brown house in your forest, 
Of pine-trees that murmur and sigh; 
Outdrowned by the boom of the ocean 
Where hound-lifce the crouching rocks lie. 
A cypress rears up its spread branches, 
Gale-brea5ted and eerie and old, 
And the beach where it bows from my pathway 
Bends o£ to the North and the cold. 

Oh ! little brown house with your windows 

That brood on a vision-dreamed sea ; 

Hearth-lit floorsand your doors that swing open 

In sheltering welcome to me. 

I smile as the sun flings its challenge 

Along the worn boards of your sill ; 

Or the moonlight steals up thro your rafters 

Low-hanging and sleeping and still. 

Oh! little brown house in your fore^ 

Where the wind comes at night time to play. 

And sings to the lone, gnarled cypress 

Of storms it has bent to obey. 

I sift the warm sands thro my fingers. 

Cloud-white in the dusk or the dawn. 

r?e a little brown house in a sturdy old wood 

Where I dream while the world thunders on ! 



52 



The Seared-Light 

I /Stand upon Life's 

Wave-torn shore. 
And sweep with burning eyes 

The wandering breeze. 
I turn the search-light 

Of my sou! each night. 
And scan the far 

Horizon of the seas. 

Go ! bring him back, 

l""- My li"6:Ie Lad who's lost. 

The babe I rocked to sleep 

Upon my breast, 
Whose heart beat warm 

Against the heart of me 
Throughout the long Night 

Watches, lulled to rest. 

Flash ! search-light flash ! 

And bring him safely home 
To mother arms that ache 

For touch of him. 
And whisper of my 

Tender anxious thoughts ; 
Of blurring tears that 

Make my eyes grow dim. 

Stay ! flash no more ! 

Upon the stricken Past, 
Nor send thy gleam 

Along yon distant shore. 
The angels found you. 

Little Lad o' Mine, 
And brought you back 

To me forevermore ! 



53 



Life's Lite A Panther In^TIie NigEit 

Life's like a panther in the night— 

And I'm afraid. 
All, all aboat me it is dark, 

And I'm dismayed. 
The loneliness, the wilderness. 
The moorlands reaching far 
That itretch away so lean and grey 

To yonder 5tar. 
And barbed thorns as I brush by 

Leave deep their scar. 
The parching of the desert sand^ 
The starving in a hungry land ; 
The panther crouching nigh. 
I'll light my campfire e'er the dawn 

Once more drifts by. 
Kindle ye spirits of the dark. 

My old desire. 
Kindle ye fagots of my love. 

To blaze the fire ! 
And one by one are kisses gone. 

And one by one are dreams cait on 

The desert pyre. 
Grief that my silence knows. 

Forge into flame 

Ye wind that blows ! 
Fear's panther tread that stalks the night: 
Holds no more dread nor doth afright, 
Is but the wanton shadow-light 
My campfire throws ! 



54 



Tfie Tayern of Dreams 

**0h I wJiere— Ofi ! where is tlie Tavern of Dreams ? 

For I would re5t awfiile'*— 
Joy looked at me in wide surprise. 
"The Tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
Where the roadway tarns and the daylight flies. 

Another weary mile." 

"Oh ! where. Oh ! where is the Tavern of Dreams ^ 

For I would re5t awhile.'* 
Life flung aside its black disguise. 
"The tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
Where the Sorrows live and the La5t Good-byes— 
Where the roadway turns, and the daylight flies. 

Another dreary mile." 

"Oh ! where. Oh ! where is the Tavern of Dreams ? 

For I would rert awhile." 
Love looked at me with passioned eyes, 
"The Tavern of Dreams," he answered, "lies 
Where the world's aflame with the sunset skies. 
Where the roadway turns, and the mirts arise. 

Beyond the kissing ,stile ! " 



55 



Karma 

I loye yoa so— what makers, dear. 

That we have never met ? 
For now there's naught to be forgot. 

There's naught to bring regret. 

It is the spirit part of me 

That wings its way to you. 
It is the truant heart of me 

And ghosts of things I knew. 

Sometime, someway, somewhere agone 

You once belonged to me. 
I know not how or why apart 

My soul is seeking thee. 

And often when Night's silent ho,$t 
Of .stars is marching through. 

Ah ! that's the time I love you most. 
Dear Love I never knew. 

I signal then toward North— toward South, 
Toward seas— toward lands afar. 

And I salute each rising sun 

And you— where e're you are. 

I could not if I would forget 

Should I but touch your hand. 

Still I had rather far— regret 
Than never understand! 



56 
Tfie Gypsy Heart Of Me 

The Gypsy heart of me 

Goes singing on its way ; 
The spirit part of me 

That wanders thro* the day. 
The hours are caravans 

That take me thither on. 
The night's a camping ground 

Where I may rest anon. 

My fancy's in the tree tops 

When the wind is blowing free ; 
Or chasing after moonlight 

To find its witchery. 
The sun-bars down at even ; 

The warmth the south wind brings; 
A star on high against the sky. 

All these my treasure things. 

The bare brown earth beneath my feet. 

The road that leads to Yon. 
The sweetness of the world around 

And sorrow strangely gone. 
And when my steps grow weary 

As the fleeting day is done. 
My fancy journeys onward 

To the rising of the sun. 

The gypsy heart of me 

Goes singing on its way ; 
The spirit part of me 

That wanders thro* the day. 
The hours are caravans 

That take me thither on ; 
The night's a camping ground 

Where I may rest anon. 



57 



Mi 



ine 



I lyould not be the lyric voice 
That ^irs the thronging multitude ; 
But rather this, my humble choice, 
A deep chord in the interlude 
That finds its way into some heart 
Beneath the warm, sweet surge of life, 
And lingers till the pulses .start. 
And smouldering fires burn riot-rife. 

I would not be the mighty sea 

That triumphs forth in mountain waves. 

But I would be a rivulet 

The force's thirsting laves. 

Mine not to be the clarion note 

That sways the clamor of the throng. 

But the brave word that finds its way 

Where life is grim and creeds are wrong. 

Mine not to be the fresco rare, 
Upon the wall for laud or fame. 
But mine a sketch of hope or prayer 
For some lost soul, unsigned by name. 
Mine not to be the blade of steel 
That parries armies thrust on thrust, 
But mine the turning of the wheel 
When hands grow numb, and turn it must. 

Mine not to be the banket spread. 

Or censers of the revel feast ; 

Mine but the crust of broken bread. 

The cool, bright stars, the golden East. 

Mine not to be a garden fair 

With cherished fragrance of delight. 

But mine the wayside altar's flare 

And rising incense of the night. 

Mine the vast plains and spire-tipped hills. 
Cathedrals of the mighty God ; 
Mine the forgotten trails and rills 
That human lives have crossed and trod ; 
And mine the solitude and hush 
Of silences that speak more plain 
Than ever voice of Wotan spoke— 
And joy that bears the scar of pain. 



58 



Life and I 

Loye, bring tdy candles ere the night grows dart. 
And spread a bang^et forth within their blaze. 

That I may ponder in the years to come, 
Upon the feaiSt of bygone days. 

The brimming bowl entwine with roses red. 
That dip their petals in the golden lees. 

And breathe a haunting perfume, sweeter far 
Than ne^ar of the sentient bees. 

Love, had I power to choose whom I would ask 
To be toa5tma;Ster at that halcyon spread. 

Then life itself would I unhand— unmask! 
And memory quicken at a rose— blood-red. 



My W 



arrior 



My loyer is no laggard,— no ! 
As paltry lovers be. 
He is a prince with plume and cloak 
And sword with edges three. 
And when he rides away to war, 
I watch him proudly from afar ; 
An armor strong wears he. 
But neyer helmet, shield nor spear 
At home with me ! 



59 



Loye Has Come. 

Love das come 
So silently I hardly knoYf ju,$t how-— 
Yet all the world seems di^erent now. 
The sun shines on as tho' 'twoald never stop. 

And dissipates the gloom. 
The summer's here, and in the garden 
Of my heart — the roses bloom. 



The Sfcy Rocket 

I sent a rocket through the night, 

It sped along. 

And then it broke 
Into a thousand flames of song. 

I sent a rocket through the night. 

It flashed on high. 

And left a trail 
Of blazing red that seared the sky. 

I sent a rocket through the night. 
Of pulsing black— 
I could not see 

How far it went. It left no track. 



60 



Joy 

Joy is the crest of the curhng wa?e ; 
The swallow that skims the sky. 
Joy is the tree tops bending free 
And the wind as it hurries by. 
Joy is the paise and the heart of things 
The love-light within your eyes. 
Joy is glorious colorings 
Like a swirl of bu^erflies. 

Grief 

Grief is alone and desolate, 
A prairie ashroud with snow. 
Grief is the lowering clouds that loom 
Over the waste below. 
Grief is silent and sombre and black. 
Ebon against the white. 
Grief is groping and chill and drear- 
Like a flight of bats by night. 



The Phantom Ship 

There is a phantom ship I know 

Beyond the harbor bar. 

Its skirts along uncharted shores 

That I have seen afar. 

The sails are tipped with amber, 

The searchlight is a star. 

And all the dreams that I have dreamed 

The phantom sailors are ! 



61 



I'm Tired of Being Grown Up ToNigtt. 

I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 

I want to go back again 

To the old dear days, and tbe childisfi plays 

That I loyed when I was ten. 

To the old tin kitchen and blue tea-set ; 

To the old rag doll that I can't forget ; 

To the apple tree ander which I played 

With li^le toy soldiers on Dress Parade. 

I'm tired of being grown ap tonight, 

I want to go back again 

To the old white house at the turn of the roMi 

Where I lived when I was ten. 

To the broad-beamed porch where the rinca grew« 

Where the jasmine trailed and clambered throagb; 

To my own wee room and the comfy bed 

That I tumbled into when my prayers were said. 

I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 

I want to go back again 

To the torn sunbonnet and pinafore 

That I wore when I was ten. 

And I want to climb in the apple tree, 

To feel the thrill as the wind sweeps free. 

Of a beckoning joy in the far away. 

Like the light on the hills at the break of day. 

I'm tired of being grown up tonight, 

I want to go back again 

To the sleds and swings and the dolls and thiags 

That I had when I was ten. 

To the high walled garden aslant the hill ; 

To the crooning call of the whippoorwill. 

To the scent of the lilacs stealing thro'. 

And the hush of the night over all I knew. 



62 
The Gifts 

Love halted at my door. 

"My burden's great and I'm footsore/' 

Said he. 
"Then come thou in ! " I cried. 
"WhateTer's mine is also thine." 
Loye put his burden down and iStepped inside> 
And parting gare a gift to me 
The magic gift that none can see. 

Grief halted at my door. 

"My burden's great and I'm footsore," 

Said he. 
"Then come thou in ! " I cried. 
"The fire's alight to cheer the night." 
Grief put his burden down and stepped inside. 
And parting left a gift with me, 
The world-wise gift of Sympathy. 

Life halted at my door. 

"My burden's great and I'm footsore." 

Said he. 
"Then come thou in ! " I cried, 
"The cloth is spread, the sweet rye bread." 
Life put his burden down and stepped inside. 
And parting left me ere he went 
The rare^ gift of his— Content. 

Christ halted at my door. 

"My burden's great and I'm footsore." 

Said He. 
"Then come Thou in ! " I cried. 
"The dusk is nigh and lonely I." 
Christ put His burden down and Stepped inside. 
And gave a wondrous gift to me. 
The gift of— Immortality. 



63 

Tbe Inyisible Cross j 

Long, long ago when but a child \ 

Your shadow fell upon me 

As I played. 
It taught me all the sweeter ] 

Things I knew, j 

And left me one with God, 

And — unafraid. j 

The years passed by, a comrade itill ] 

It followed till I grew 
A laughing maid. 
It told to me the meaning ] 

Of each flower ; ' 

It was as moonshine— and as 

Light to shade. 

It showed me where the wood-birds nest. 

And amber honey the wild ] 

Bee distills, ] 

And in the night we dreamed the 

Sky-lit stars | 

Were heaven's arch of golden I 

Da£odils. 
And when I learned to see and know 
With wide up-lifted eyes— \ 

Why gently then ] 

Tour shadow passed, but first ! 

Safeguarded me 
With vision of the God , 

In mortal men. \ 

One day again I saw its shape | 

Of haunting substance,— yea I 

A man who smiled, I 

Who took my hand within a ] 

Comrade's clasp j 

And let me be his friend as ] 

When a child. 1 

Ah ! then I knew the heart of you, : 

And that another's gain j 

Was not my loss. 
Your outstretched arms were raised 

To welcome me j 
When lo ! — there was a shadow 

Of the Cross ! 



64 



Because You Game 

The world is not the same to me 

Since you (laye come ; 
A thousand yoices cry to be 

Tbat long were dumb. 
And something sings witbin my breast 
Of benedi^ion and oi re.$t ; 
Of undertone and overcre.$t 

Since you baye come. 

Tbe tbings of make-belieye are past. 

Now I baye you. 
My life bas, ay, a nobler la^ 

Soul-fast and true. 
And otber tbings tbat I baye known 
Are put away like toys outgrown, 
For I no more need play alone 

Now I baye you. 

I tbougbt tbat jealousy would sting 

Tbis loye of mine, 
Tbat doubt its own unrest would bring 

To stale loye's wine. 
But wbence loye came its well-spring rose 
To bubble as a torrent flows. 
As sword to sbeatb it fits and knows— 

Tbis loye of mine. 

So is tbe world, dear, changed to me 

Because you came. 
Ai prairie fires, in molten sea 

Sweep into flame. 
So do my loye-razed ramparts fall 
That there be no diyiding wall. 
Into loye's fire I cast my all 

Because you came. 



65 



In That Garden Where I Played 

Will you come with me to the Pa5t may-be. 

And I'll lead yoa through the ({ate. 
In the fragrance there of a garden fair. 

Where small gho^t-shadows wait. 
They are wraiths of things like white moth wi>gs 

And the flowers can neyer fade. 
Will yoa come with me to the Past may-be 

In the garden where I played ? 

There are columbines and trumpet Tinei 

A climbing o'er the wall. 
And the hollyhocks andfthe nodding phlox 

Are standing straight and tall. 
There's a drowsy hum when the wild bees come 

To the apple blossoms' shade. 
Oh ! the flowers and things, and the cloyer ringa^ 

In that garden where I played ! 

Will you climb with me in the apple tree 

While the blossoms fall about, 
Up in the air with sunbeams there. 

And the whole wide world without ? 
Oh, the sky is blue as the larkspur's hue. 

And my heart is unafraid ! 
Will yon swing with me 'neath the apple tree 

In that garden where I played ? 



66 



A Pagan Thoa 

A pagan thou ! 
Unhampered by the clash of creeds. 
A ma<ster- builder in thy work 
Of great and silent deeds. 

A pagan thou ! 
Recorder of a tear, a smile; 
Thy tent pitched on the sun-parched road 
That I may rejt awhile. 



Driftwood 

I would not ask that life 

Should be all sunlight. No ! 
The shadows come, and make 

The day more perfect so. 
The minor chord that wanders 

Through a song, is sweeter far ; 
The mi,$t that for a moment 

Hides the glamour of a 5tar. 
I would not ask that life 

Should be all sunlight. No ! 
When driftwood holds within 

Its flames a wonder-glow ! 



67 



The Mate Call 

ABoye the pulsin(2 city 

And the clamor of the mart, 
I hear the mate note offyoar yoice 

As heart calls hack to^heart. 
The white lijjht of the\ity"night 

Burns down to flaming hlae, 
As my ({ypsy sonl sends answer 

To the nomad sool of yon. 

I hear yon calling, calling. 

And the world is mine^today. 
Thoagh love may make me beggared 

V\\ give my all away 
To wander like a minstrel 

The changing seasons through. 
My vagrant spirit following 

The nomad soal of yoa. 



68 



Sometimes 

Sometimes, dear, when I wake and think 

Of every liftle task 
That other hands may do for yoa. 

It hurts me, — why yoa ask? 
I'm jealous of the sli(2htest thing 

That all those others do. 
And yet their only hold on me 

Is beinj2 good to you. 

Sometimes, dear, when the lights burn dim. 

And dreams seem somehow true, 
I see your chair drawn near to mine. 

The table set for two. 
The supper spread, the broken'^bread ; 

Some simple wine you knew— 
Ah ! this would be a fea.st to me 

If only I had you. 

Sometimes to draw the curtains down 

And kneel beside your chair ; 
My head close pressed against your^breast. 

My love a tender prayer. 
My \ift\e wandering soul at last 

At home with things it knew; 
Dear, this would be all Life to me 

If only I had you. 



69 



I Hare Passed On 

Nay, do not chide that I can smile. 
Tears ({liiSten, though yon cannot see. 
Because the way is dark between 

Yoar path and me. 
When once I paused beside your (S^te 
There in the early light of dawn 
Tour hand touched mine ; 
No more they clasp. 

I ha?e passed on. 

Nay, do not say I have forgot. 

My memory cradles thoughts of you. 

And tenderest lullabies I sing 

That once you knew. 
But now their echo does not reach. 
Somehow their haunting timbre's gone. 
The pipes of Pan to-day are mute. 

I haye passed on. 

Nay, tell me not that love has changed 
For ;Still its wonder fills me dear. 
Intangible and far it seems 

That once was near. 
Now in a foreiSt dark I roam. 
Thro* chilling miits wind-swept and wan 
I wave to you a lait farewell. 

I haye passed on. 



70 



Father Of All 

Father of all, I do not plead 
For selfish things to make me glad. 
Bat that I may make someone else 
More grieved than I less sad. 

Father of all, I do not ask 
Thee for contentment when I pray, 
But that I may bring peace onto 
Another's lonely way. 

Father of all, I do not seek 
Thy watchful care to guerdon me, 
Bnt only this, some other heart 
To raise 'twixt me and Thee. 

Father of all, I do not fear 
However dark the way may be, 
For in the gloom was borne the cross. 
And crown of Calvary. 



71 



At Tbe Top Of The Hill 

There's a glimmer of snoir in the moonlight. 

And the cu'fter slips silently on— 

There's a trail we don't know, in the moonlight. 

So we follow where others have gone— 

And the drifts pile ap high, in the moonlight. 

While the forest is sleeping and iStill, 

And you are close by, in the moonlight. 

That shimmers atop of the hill. 

I have climbed to the top of the hill, lore. 

The dizzying height I know. 

I can see afar all the things that are. 

In the Talleys that lie below. 

There is never a cloud in the distance. 

Where the mist of the moon breaks thro' 

At the top of the hill ! And my heart grows still 

With the mad, sweet thrill of yon ! 



72 

The Grapes of EsEicol 

Oh ! God of tempest thanders 
And blighted wilderness ! 
I press my parched lips to Thy earth. 
Beseeching} Thee to bless 
My lonely soal that wanders 
Athir^ neath naked sky. 
Lord God of Hoits, oat of the depths 
To Thee I cry. 

Mira(2ed is Hebron's hillside 
Where milk and honey flow ; 
Where fa'fted kine are lowing. 
And rip'ning grain fields grow ; 
Where vineyards barn to parple. 
And fraiting, heavy lie. 
And grapes of Eshcol ripen fall 
For lips parched dry. 

The grapes of Eshcol shimmer 
Beneath a magic son ; 
The wind springs ap o'er Hebron ; 
The drowsing day is done. 
And scarlet-tipped is lance-leaf 
Of wild pomegranate flowers 
That cool their flaming sweetness 
In rain-drop showers. 

Oh ! God of tempest thanders 
And desert wilderness! 
I strain my eyes toward Hebron, 
Age-old, that Thoa didst bless. 
Lead me beside still waters 
Where vineyards parpling be ; 
And grapes of Eshcol ripen sweet 
For me— for me ! 



73 



All Hail The Dawn? 
Chanticleer 

A toa.st to thee! 

Guest of mine. 

Why tarried thou 

So long upon the way ? 

A signal flame 

Has kept my hearth alight 

From dusk to dusk 

Each waiting day. 

A toa5t to thee! 

Guest of mine. 

Who sifteth at 

My board tonight with nce 

Pour thou thy wine 

Into mine own 

That I may g^aff 

Its mingled ecstacy. 

A toast to thee ! 
Love of Mine, 
Within whose goblet 
Lies the Morning Star. 
"0 Sun, without whose 
Golden magic 
Things would be no more 
Than what they are ! " 



74 



Shadows On The Wall 

When the shadow-time is nearing. 
And the sunset rays are gone. 
There come two forms appearing 
With ^eer clown-like garments on» 
The wee bare toes creep softly 
To the rocker where I sit, 
And loving arms steal 'round me 
While the lamp is still unlit. 

And it's "Tell us now a story, 
For it*s beddy time, you know. 
All about a witch's castle 
Where the bad hobgobblins go." 
They smother me with kisses. 
And clamber on my knee 
To hear of ancient galleys 
Upon an unknown sea. 

'Tis then we play the twilight game 
At dusk of every night ; 
The fireplace is a magic forge 
That flashes forth its light. 
We make come true our wishes 
Where the shadows dimly fall. 
And watch them all go marching by 
Upon the cabin wall. 

There's a king who wears a helmet. 

And a ^een all dressed in silk ; 

There's a giant and a forest, 

And a palfrey white as milk ; 

A windmill that goes round and round ; 

An eagle on the wing ; 

An Indian Brave with arching bow, 

A fairy garden ring. 



It is twilight in the valley 
That lies so still below 
Beneath the rush and rally 
Of the mountain winds that blow. 



75 



Bat in the firelight's flashing 

No childish footsteps fall 

Tho' shadow shapes are playing itill 

Upon the cabin wall. 

There's a ting who wears a helmet. 

And a ^een all dressed in silk ; 

There's a giant and a forest 

And a palfrey white as milk ; 

A windmill that goes 'roand and 'round ; 

A ship that sails to sea 

With shadows of remembered things 

A waving back to me. 



The Last Good-by 

They told me she was dead 
And bade me come. 
I could not go — 
My grief was damb. 
I could not bear 
To see her so 
So diiSerent there. 
I turned and fled— - 
They thought I did not care. 
She is not dead to me, 
For always I shall see 
The smile that lies 
Within her eyes- 
Brown eyes of witchery. 
That slender form of hers, 
Wrapped in the winter furs. 

The yiolets. 

I hear again 

Today as then 

The fond regrets. 

Her last reply. 

Her last good-by, — 

And as I wait, 

I see her waving there to me 

Beside the gate. 



CANDLE TIME 



81 



The Fortress Of The Soul 

AH ! little son of mine. 

The scoldings,— if you knew, 

Are but to build a fortress great 

Within that soul of you. 

Dear \ift\e son of mine. 

It mu5t be rock, not sand ; 

And every word's a batilement 

To make it stronger .stand. 

We'll call this citadel we build 

The Fortress Of The Soul ; 

The general is Courage : 

The captain is Control : 

The raw recruits are all your deeds 

Awaiting to enroll. 

Come, get your blocks, 

A wall we'll make 

About the mimic sg^are, 

A toy ba^alion we will use 

In painted jackets there. 

The countersign will be a smile. 

And Taps will be a prayer. 

The sentry brave is Steadfast Truth, 

The gateman Constant Care, 

And every soldier must be picked 

To guard that fortress fair. 

Begin today to form each s^ad ; 

The troops are in your hand. 

And show yourself and o£Ficer 

That's worthy a command ! 



A. B. C. 
Ob ! Miss Toftie ?on Lottie Det 
Is not a highbrow — not yet ; 
She can play the piano 
And dab in soprano 
And fix up a mess of spaghet. 
She can dance like Genee Orchide 
Like a nun she can fervently pray. 
Bat the tari^ revision 
She scorns with derision, 
And topics that ^ray from Broadway. 

She 
can play 
a g rand 
piana. She can 
daab in burntsienna, 

she can teach you how 

to paint a mackerel sky. But in book- 
lor and in learning she is 

not a bit discerning, and of 

higher mathematics she 
is shy. 

She can cook 

a grill- 

ed to- 

mato like a chef of old 
Parie, or a 

piq- uante 

Sauce Diable 

Fit for any 

king, maisoui! Fve forgot- 



ten ditferential ! 


for some- 




thing 








more 








poten- 








tial. 








the 








lit- 








tle 








primer 








lessons 


that she 


taught to 


me! 



83 

Lo^! 
A Fairy GodmotKer 

She's skipped to Calcutia 

Or o^ to Bombay 
With a raspberry cap 

And a knapsack of hay. 
In an old polonaise 

And a prairie-dog chaise. 
And pink rubber goloshes 

For E^inox days ! 
Neat herring-bone goggles 

She wears on her nose» 
And fireflies for earrings, 

And open-work hose. 
Now frankly, ^ite frankly 

Dame Rumor has said 
That pinwheels go buzzing 

About in her head. 
If you find such a one 

In an ancient pelisse 
Ru£led up to her waist 

On a band of Cerise, 
Suggest she comes back 

To take care of her charge 
Who eats pretzels and curds 

While she's roaming at large. 
For all of the good 

She's to mine or to me, 
A cave-dwelling Zulu 

See might as well be ; 
A bag-pipe, or carrots 

Or plain axle-grease. 
Or the kin of my grandmother's 

Stepmother's niece ! 



84 



Candle Time 

Good-night, litile room, good-night, 
When gone's the candle light 
You're blotied out nor do I see 
The toys that once belonged to me. 
Do Dreamland fairies take away 
The things with which I daily play 
To some poor child who is forlorn 
And bring them back again at morn ? 
Or do they wander thro' my naps 
And make me waken up perhaps ? 
Good-night, li^le room, good-ni^ht. 

Good-night, little room, good-night. 

ni wait till bright moonlight. 

Then from my bed FU tumble out 

To see if they are 5till about 

The trains and toys I put away 

Before I go to sleep each day. 

A cuddly lullaby Til hum 

So dreams and dreams will trooping come. 

ni be a white cocoon, tucked tight, 

A bu^erfly by morning light. 

Good-night, li^le room, good-night. 



85 



Swinging On The Gate 

With one foot o£ and one foot on, 

Vm swinging on tfie gate ; 
I come each night at supper time 

And for my daddy wait ; 
I see the people going by. 

They stop and smile at me, 
Nor know that I am Captain Kidd 

Upon a pirate sea. 

One foot od and one foot on. 

So do I wait and swing, 
Vye palled a lot of palings out— 

But that aint anything— 
My daddy says it's not the pales 

That makes the place look right, 
But me a swingin' on the gate 

When he comes home at night. 



86 



When I Was A Boy 

I did a hundred thousand thinjjs 

When I was a boy, 
My pockets bulged with tops and brings 

When I was a boy. 
With marbles, grass and bits of glass. 
With old root ends of sassafras ; 
With fishing hooks and bait— alas ! 

When I was a boy. 

I played at army scouting then. 

When I was a boy. 
The pa.$ture bars are down again as 

When I was a boy. 
No one could go beyond the line 
Until he gave the countersign. 
Oh ! they were great, those days of mine 

When I was a boy. 

The h&ftle field lay o'er the fence 

When I was a boy. 
The corn jtalk stacks were army tents 

When I was a boy. 
And days and days Fve sentried there 
When I could fight and do and dare 
Without a sorrow or a care 

When I was a boy. 

Fd kites and knives and guns and things 

When I was a boy. 
And 5tubbed-out shoes and counselings. 

When I was a boy. 
There was no tree too high for me. 
No boat that harrowed forth to sea. 
But I— -I watched it from the quay 

When I was a boy. 



87 



I had a tiungry appetite 

Wlien I was a boy. 
For then things always tasted right, 

When I was a boy. 
The honey and the hot brown bread ; 
The watfles with the grape jam spread ; 
The cider from the big hogshead 

When I was a boy. 

They're gone, they're gone, those good old times 

When I was a boy. 
IVe millions now where I had dimes 

When I was a boy. 
And yet it somehow comes again 
And hurts a bit, the memory when 
I think of all the days of then 

When I was a boy. 



A Fish Story 

A box tied up with ribbons ; 
Two bundles neatly done, 
A turtle and a gold fish ; 
No name on either one. 

The Xmas tree's forgo^en. 
And there's an awful din- 
Both children want the turtle, 
A scrap to see who'll win ! 

The box they break to pieces ; 
The ribbons tear to bits. 
The turtle is dismembered 
By unintended hits. 

It lies there shorn of glory. 
The idol of a whim; 
And the li^le gilded gold fish 
Finds he's once more in the swim. 



88 



On The Sand Dunes 

Oh ! the sand dunes are warm 
Where the sun's beaten down. 
The cool winds blow sweet 
After heat of the town. 
The Kiddies are dear 
And the world is in key. 
For my arms are about them 
And theirs about me, 
While a gull dips down slowly 
Far, far out to sea. 

There are pebbles and shells. 
There are tunnels and wells. 
There's a town that is built 

Out of sand. 
Where the waves ripple in 
And the breakers begin. 
There's a toy ship of tin 

To command. 
Ho ! for hey day and play day ! 
Then back to the town ; 
Back to the garden once more. 
While the Sand Pile Lady is 

Left alone 
To weep by the salt sea shore. 



89 



Wlien Tfie Parson Game To Tea 

A green and purple lady 

Had a green and purple liMc 
It flew across tfie green 

And purple grass. 
Alighted on Her coitfure 

And then flew od again 
With the lady's green 

And purple wig— alas ! 

That green and purple lady 

In a green and purple fit 
Went out to get some green 

And purple eggs. 
And the green and purple chicken? 

Well, that was the last of it 
And its green and purple 

Neck and wings and legs. 

From a green and purple kettle 

In a green and purple 5tew 
It was eaten at a green 

And purple tea ; 
And the green and purple parson 

And the lady he would woo 
Galled this tragic chicken 

Dish— mere fricassee ! 



90 



The Circle 

Fin awful 
tired of doing all the 
things I have to do.1 Fd 
like to sit awhile and twirl 
my thumbs. I wish I were a 
kitten that had nothing hot to 
meWf or a foolish litiile robin peck- 
ing crumbs. Fd like to be on horse- 
back, riding .straight into the wind. 
I'd like to be a sail upon the 
sea. A tangent free, unbound, 
no circle crowding round, 
Is just the sort of 
thing IM like 
to be ! 



91 



Ttie Es^imaux 

Where North winds blow 
An Es^imaux 

Lives 'neath an Arctic 5tar, 
An icy wa.$te his hunting ground 

And white fields stretching'^far. 

He has a hut, plum pudding shape. 
Made out of solid snow. 

He dresses like a polar bear 

In rough fur skins, you know. 

For sport he drives a pack of dogs 
Hitched to a wooden sled, 

And takes along a spear to hunt 
The food that he is fed. 

He dines on fish, a savory dish. 
He sups on brown seal soup. 

He gives his si<$ter walrus oil 
Whenever she has croup. 

He doesn't get a nice, warm tub 
At beddy time o* nights. 

But ju^ curls up and goes to sleep 
Beneath the Northern Lights. 



92 



Hannah Jane 

Tfiey say my dolly's no niore"coant 
Becanse her head's not on. 
Because her che5t is ba'ftered in 
And one poor leg is gone. 
Dad's giyen me a new Dutch doll ; 
From Holland I suppose. 
She has the ^eereit wooden shoes. 
The dearest kind a clothes. 

But I— I like my old doll be5t. 

My Hannah Jane's my pet. 

What if she does look all smashed ]ap ! 

The sawduiSt's in her yet. 

I'm sure that if my head was gone, 

Besides a leg or two. 

My mother'd loye me ju^ the same 

As when I was brand new. 

Oh! Hannah Jane, 
They say you're plain. 

But I don't think it's fair. 

You once had china eyes that dosed 
And lots of yellow hair. 
Oh ! Hannah Jane, 
They say you're plain. 

But you're not plain to me. 

For lovely is as lovely does 
And so how can you' be ! 

I've ^acks and .stacks of other toys. 

But none I like so well. 

A woolly lamb that bleats and baas, 

A worn-out dinner bell. 

A shadow horse on which I ride 

When goblins chase at night. 

A patchwork bag and silver chain, 

A Teddy bear that's white. 



93 



And tben I ()a?e a row of jtones 

All tnrning into gold. 

Yon keep tliem in the sun you know, 

Until they're one week old. 

I haye a litiile rocking chair, 

A track and lectric train ; 

And when Vm tired of all the rest 

I still hare — Hannah Jane ! 



Bahefta 

Bahetta lived in sanny France 

Upon a garden slope. 

Mid rows of purpling grapes she played 

Or skipped her skipping rope. 

She watched beyond 

The yineclad hill 

To where the ships lay white and still 

Upon a sunswept sea ; 

And learned her lessons well each day 

The same as you and me. 

At night she said a prayer in French. 

Babe^a was deyout, 

And after that she drew the blinds 

And blew the candle out. 



94 



Commandments For A Gbild 

I 

Tbon sKalt not touch, 
Then be ttioa wise, 
Loye tilings forbidden 
Witb thine eyes. 

II 

Thou shalt not ta^le, 
Else thou soon 
Wilt be a song bird 
Out of tune. 

Ill 

Thou must not frown 
If thou wouldst please. 
Thou shalt not whine, 
Thou shalt not tease. 

IV 

Thou shalt be kind 
Wouldst thou be king, 
For lo?e hath power 
O'er everything. 

V 

Thou shalt plod on. 
Nor mind a fall, 
For great men stumbled 
Too when small. 

VI 
Thou shalt be happy 
Smiles not tears 
Are swords to fight 
Life's battles, dears. 



95 

VII 

TIlou shaft keep clean 
Thy heart's best room, 
And make of deeds 
Thy sweeping broom. 

VIII 

Thou shalt have ease 
And eat with grace. 
Nor spill thy milk, 
Nor jell thy face. 

IX 

Thoa shalt abide 
By what is said, 
At work or play. 
Or tucked in bed. 

X 

Then wilt thou grow 
Up big sometime. 
And teach another 
Child this rhyme. 



Katinka 

Katinka was a Holland child 

Soft yellow hair had she. 

And wide Dutch caps atop. her curls 

That bobbed bewitchingly. 

A kerchief knotted round her throat 

Was white as new skim milk ; 

An outer pe^icoat she wore 

Of rose pink poplin silk. 

And bodice tightly laced. 

Her wooden shoes were big and itout,- 

And she was most a yard around 

About her tubby waist. 



96 



Tfie Li^Ie Mermaiden 

A mermaiden sat on a foam-green irave, 
And mended Fier sea-weed frocks. 
Her needle was wrought from a fish's fin 
And the thread was her own gold locks. 
The bonnet she wore was a white sea sh«ll. 
And under her chin it was tied as well. 

Dainty and frail 

In the summer gale, 

She'd stitch and the hem she'd tarn ; 

Or the sun's warm strands 

She would catch in her hands 

And put in a coral urn ; 

For the sun's shining beams. 

And its glimmers and gleams 

Is the coal that the sea-folk burn. 

A gull se'ftled lightly upon her arm. 
And wonderful tales he told 
Of cities and forests and fields afar. 
And seas where the sun grows cold ; 
But the 5tory of all that she thought most 

sweet 
Was that of the maidens who walk on feet. 

Dainty and frail 

In the summer gale 

The lessons she'd try to learn 

Of the far-a-way lands. 

And she'd count on her hands. 

Repeating them all in turn. 

Then at close of the day. 

When the gull flew away. 

She sailed home on a green sea-fern. 



97 



ososan 



In a land across the sea, dear, 

Where the dancing moonbeams be, dear. 

Lives a liti;le brown-eyed maid of old Japaa. 
There the sunshine spills o' day time. 
And the lotas fills the May-time 

With its bloom of sweet perfume for 
Yososan. 
Like a swaying flower she seems, dear. 
In that garden land of dreams, dear. 

And her skin is smooth and warm as 
ivory glint. 
There are gay fans in her tresses 
And her li^le silken dresses 

Are like bati:erflies of every lovely tint. 



The Hotientot Child 

Now what would you think 
Of a Hodentot child 
Who lived in the top 

Of a tree. 
And wore coral beads 
And a girdle of leaves 
IniStead of nice clothing 

Like me. 

Nurse says if I fuss 

Or my pretty things muss 

She'll take me to 

Hottentot Land 
And leave me, you know. 
Where the cocoanuts grow. 
In a desert that's made 

Out of sand. 



98 



The Noah's Ark 

There once was a Noah's ark I knew 

All fall of gingerhread toys, 

Shem and Ham and Japeth too 

Were nice liftle gingerbread boys. 

When sapper time came, Fll 

Tell you— hark ! 

The animals all marched out of the ark 

From the cat to the kangaroo 

Sedately two by two 

Into bowls of brown and we ate them down 

With milk— that gingerbread crew. 

Which was yery much be^er I think 

Than that 

They had all grown jtale on Ararat ! 



The Circus 

When the circus comes to town 
Sifter and I go down, 
And watch the animals all parade ; 
We buy popcorn and lemonade. 
And go inside, if our way is paid. 
When the circus comes to town. 

There are ponies and things 

In the sawdu,st rings ; 

Bare-back riders and whips. 

There's a chariot, too. 

All painted blue. 

That races and neyer tips. 

There's a swinging trapeze 

That they jump and seize ; 

A funny old Pierrot clown ! 

And the brass band plays 

On holidays 

When the circus comes to town ! 



99 



The Katydid's Song \ 

Katydid 

Katydidn't 

She did \ 

She didn't. j 

! 

A katydid sat on a 5tone j 

And san|2 in her merrie.$t tone. 1 

Said a frog that was nigh, 

Why bless me if I i 

Shall let that young thing sing alone. j 

So he joined in with such a loud croak j 

That the world all about him awoke. I 

Although it was night 
The meadow was light 
And mii$ty as wind-blown smoke. 

The bu^erflies stretched out their wings ; I 

The bees began sharpening their stings; j 

And the birds with a cheep ] 

Wakened up from their sleep ] 

And got dressed in their everyday things. i 

A cloud that was hurrying by 

Got caught on a star in the sky, l 

And darkness descended. 
And morning was— when ? 

So the birds and the bees \ 

And the bu'fterflies then ] 

Back into bed sprang 

While a tiny voice sang ; 

'Katydid— katydidn't" again ! 



100 



THe Dance In June 

!■ rows of well-kept garden beds 
THere grew a wealth of flowers 

Tbat wept and bent their litile heads 
Unto the snmmer hours. 

They sorrowed so, because one day 

A bee had chanced to call 
Aid gossip of the things that lay 

Beyond their garden wall. 

They'd turn their heads and sway and swing 

Upon their stems and pout ; 
TLey longed to go a-rollicking 

Into the world without. 

They begged the bee to come that way. 

It was so dull, you know, 
To sit still on their stalks all day 

When neyer breeze did blow. 

The wind oft sought the garden place 
Because the flowers were there ; 

He heard their woes, and kissed each face 
And vowed he'd grant their prayer. 

'I'll gire a dance, but do not tell," 
Said he, **a place I know, 
A shadowed dell where foxgloves dwell. 
And thither we will go." 

The flowers climbed down their tiresome ^alks 

And gaily tripped along; 
They frollicked o'er the garden walks. 

Caught in the West Wind's song. 



101 



They reached the woodland all too sooh^ 

The outside world to see— 
A band of birds struck up a tune 

High in a white birch tree. 

The fat brown leader flapped his winj} 

To ^art a rainbow glide ; 
It set the others caroling 

With small beaks opened wide. 

And while the notes were tuning forth^ 

A phlox led out a rose. 
The pretty thing was trembling 

Within her petaled clothes. 

A poppy danced with fevered vim 

Beside a snowball ^out, 
And slight and trim, a wall-flower prim 

Was blushingly led out. 

They danced and danced— -the sun went JoWB» 
The band had ceased to play, 

And each bird hid his head of brown 
To wait till break of day. 

'Neath twilight's cloak the flowers discrete 

Back homeward swiftly sped, 
Nor anyone they chanced to meet 
As through the dusk they fled. 

Inside the garden-gate anon 

They two-5tepped up the walks. 

Or tiptoed lightly o'er the lawn 

And clambered up their istalks. 



102 



TKe Everyday Time 

Glick o' the gate, and no more I wait 
For Babbie's come borne to me. 
Every morning I say 
Ere you batten away, 
A good li^le daughter be. 
Heed every rule 
Wben you're going to school ; 
Give and you'll get,— -you'll see. 
Wc won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here 
Babbie dear." 

Whir o* the wheel as we sew and sew, 
For Babbie is spinning it there. 
I ^itch all the while 
The warmth of your smile 
And never I mind the tear. 
A flash of the needle ; 
A turn of the hem ; 
Soon there'll be something to wear ! 
We won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here,^ 
Babbie dear. 

Tick o' the key-board a tapping away. 
For Babbie is learning to write. 
What ma^er ? I say 
If it breaks as you play. 
You're trying with all your might. 
You're learning to spell. 
And you're doing it well, 
And that is enough now— g^ite. 
We won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here,. 
Babbie dear. 



103 



Flame o' tlie wick when the meal's Begun, 
Now Babbie is turning it low. 
As I beat up the whey 
I teach you the way 
And knead you a bit of dough. 
And what if it's burned ! 
A lesson youVe learned 
That a litile housewife should know. 
We won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here> 
Babbie dear. 

Light o' my heart when the nightfalls dark 
For Babbie is siting with me. 
Love's in your eyes. 
And the lamplight lies 
A pool where the task-books be. 
And there in the glow 
You are learning to know 
Your primer of A. B. C. 
We won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here. 
Babbie dear. 

Creak o' the rocker for bedtime's come ; 
My Babbie is going to sleep. 
So hush a by low 
For over they go. 
The flock of the dream grey sheep. 
On to the end you're 
My darling— my friend ! 
Close to my heart. Love, keep. 
We won't wait for the By and By Time 

Next year 
When the Everyday Time is here, right here^ 
Babbie dear. 



104 



Calico Town 

Haye yoa ever been to Calico Town 

Where all the houses tumble down 

And the roads are paved with calico brown? 

The cobblestones are calico ; 

The horses and carts and the trees, yon know. 

The Calico people live up there, 

And trim \ift\e calico clothes they wear. 

They've calico shoes and calico hats. 

Calico dogs and calico cats, 

Everything there is calico— 

If you haven't been you must surely go. 

calico Town, Calico Town 
That is the place to go ; 
Where all the houses tumble down 
Whenever brisk winds blow. 
Calico Town, Calico Town 
It's ju5t beyond the rain ; 
So when it comes a pouring down» 
Let's take an aeroplane. 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

0018 391 927 1 !>/ 



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